Page 1 of Shark’s Rise

Chapter One

Abbigail

“This is medium rare, but I’d be happy to put it back on the grill if you’d like it ruined.” Elijah grinned while placing a plate in front of me. A luscious tri-tip steak held pride of placement between a baked potato and roasted Brussels sprouts. I stared at the food petulantly, then transferred the look to him.

“Not even a thank you?” He raised a dark brow while looking at me with disappointment. “I’m surprised Sebastian tolerates such ill-mannered behavior.”

I grimaced. For a second. He wasn’t wrong. I had been terribly rude to the guy since we’d arrived at the safe house four days and three nights ago. But nothing had changed about my truth. I didn’t want to be here in the first place. I didn’t care how many cool bells and whistles this complex had or how thoroughly Sebastian believed he was doing the right thing in sending me here.

Because in the end, this whole stunt only felt like one thing.

Banishment.

An opinion I’d made abundantly clear as Elijah dragged me from Sebastian’s office.

And yes, intellectually, I knew their plan made sense. Understood it was for my own safety. But it didn’t mean I had to like it. Didn’t mean I had to be pleasant about it. And if Elijah thought we would spend this time getting to know one another better and becoming friends, he could think again. I had no plans of changing my attitude or becoming more agreeable or more cooperative anytime soon.

I pushed my plate toward the center of the table. “I’m not hungry. I’ll be in my room.” I pushed back, stood, and turned toward the large living room. Through the sprawling space with its leather couches and inviting décor, I could access the wide hallway that led to the bedrooms.

While I hadn’t done much exploring, I knew the house was an open-concept ranch-style estate. The bedroom I was using was located at the end of a hallway with at least six other doors along the corridor before mine on the right. The hall concluded at a set of French doors that opened to a stunning backyard with a waterfall-fed pool. Other elements I’d seen but not explored were a koi pond, a rose garden, a shuffleboard court, and a poolside villa with an awning-covered ping-pong table. A small staff bustled around the home at all hours but gave me plenty of privacy, though one of them always seemed to emerge precisely when I needed something.

“Abbigail.” Elijah’s commanding tone of voice stopped me in my tracks, although I didn’t turn to face him. “You need to eat. Come back to the table. Now.”

“No,” I replied through gritted teeth. “I said I’m not hungry. Thank you, though.”

I was sure if he were standing closer to me, he would hear how my fury had my heart thudding in my chest.

“Don’t turn this into a battle of wills,” the man warned. “You won’t win.”

Slowly, I turned to face him. I tilted my head. “Do you really think I see this as a game?”

He relaxed his stiff posture. “Frankly, I don’t know what to think. It’s been the better part of a week, and you haven’t had more than a bowl of cereal. I gave my best friend my word that I would take care of his woman. Right now, I’m not doing a very good job.”

Lifting my chin in realization, I said, “Now it’s making more sense. This is actually about you. I’ll tell you what, Mr. Banks. I hereby release you of your duties and your misplaced heroism.”

“My God, you’re a handful,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’d have spanked your ass red by now.”

The last part was more to himself, but I still heard the comment. Great! Now all I could think of was Sebastian doing those exact carnal things. My lonely imagination—and pussy—were taking over rational thought. Now I was hungry, still not for food, so I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket to check my messages as a distraction. My lack of messages would be a more accurate statement. I’d averaged about five texts back and forth with Sebastian each day since I’d arrived at the safe house. And, despite his promises that he’d visit a day or two after Elijah moved me in here, I still hadn’t seen him. My understanding and patience were wearing dangerously thin.

My stomach ached from my jangled nerves as I pushed through the door to my sanctuary. Quickly, I closed and locked it behind me. The space was apparently the master bedroom suite. It was decorated as beautifully as the rest of the home and at least provided a peaceful, calming place in which to hide out. The color scheme was dominated by the darkest navy blue I’d ever seen. At times, I couldn’t tell if it was blue or black. Cream and khaki accented the dark shade and lent a casual vibe to the regal blue. I’d instantly fallen in love with the hideout—if there was anything to “love” about this place at all.

The room even had a window seat, and it was large enough for two people to snuggle up in. A thick upholstered cushion ran beneath the abundant pillows and cozy throw blanket. It was a perfect book-lover’s escape.

According to my phone’s GPS, we were in Twentynine Palms, California. After the emotional turmoil in Sebastian’s office the day I left—correction: the day I was extracted from—Los Angeles, Bas’s driver, Joel, brought Elijah and me to this estate in the Mohave Desert. I had exhausted myself with a tear-filled breakdown, followed by a fit of rage, wrapped up by shamelessly pleading for my freedom. My dramatics ended with Elijah handing me a monogrammed handkerchief from his suit’s inside breast pocket before eyeing me like a grenade with its pin pulled.

In the end, I’d fallen asleep against the limo’s window, lulled by the mindlessness of counting red cars as they passed by on the far side of the freeway. It was a silly game my brothers and I had played as kids during family road trips. It made the long hours pass a bit quicker while confined with my rambunctious siblings. At that moment, when everything else felt like it was turning upside down, the game gave me some familiarity and safety.

Neither of which I felt anymore. Not by a long shot.

Maybe if I asked nicely, Elijah would let me call Rio. I was worried sick that things were falling apart at Abstract. If I could check in on the business, it would help settle my nerves.

I hurried back out into the hall. Once there, I spotted my jailer out by the pool. I took a chance that the French doors were unlocked. To my surprise, the handle turned freely. I hadn’t been outdoors since I’d gotten here, and the warmth of the sun on my skin brought tears to my eyes. It was a melodramatic reaction, but my emotions were like a swollen river after a storm. I was the damn Rio Grande, ready to crest over every situational bank and shoreline.

But this bullshit had to stop. Soon. Something already told me that my tears wouldn’t carry the same weight with Elijah as they did with his friend, the MIA Mr. Shark.

I stepped in front of the lounge chair he lazed on, blocking the sun from his face and ensuring I had his attention. As soon as he looked up, I asked without preamble, “May I use the phone?” Through gritted teeth, I added, “Please.”

“Not until you eat something,” he answered without opening his eyes. “It’s a fair trade.”